


Frayed

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-14
Updated: 2005-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-27 06:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin has changed, and Brian realises he is about to lose him, maybe for good.





	Frayed

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

The boy you love has become a strong man before your incredulous eyes, and now you watch him take his own steps along a path you did not choose, and that does not include you, so it seems.

 

Justin has built up over the last four years; his shoulders are broader, and you realise he is taller when he is standing in front of you, and you no longer have to bend your head to kiss him.  
His hands are bigger and hardened from drawing almost non-stop; you can feel it when he holds your hand, and it doesn’t feel like he is yielding to your will anymore.  
He is now the one who usually pushes you roughly onto the floor, and wants to be on top, take over, and make you beg until you go crazy.

His features are no longer so boyish; you can see some wrinkles beginning to appear below his deep eyes that have grown colder.

 

He has started to smoke too; at first, he only reached for the pack of cigarettes during one of those bringingdownthehouse arguments in which you told him to get out of your loft, and he cried, then he bit his nails until his fingertips started spilling blood.  
His emotional state was a mess, and so he smoked to relax.  
You don’t argue anymore, not for an eternity (so it sadly feels); you suspect that he smokes to prove himself and you that he is a man. It’s somewhat silly, he knows it, but it is an accessory he doesn’t seem to want to let go.

 

A few years ago, he would act like your mother, and nag you not to smoke nor abuse the alcohol, especially when you found out that you had cancer, and he feared for your life more than he feared for his own.  
Now he seems indifferent to everything that may harm him.  
But nothing could ever possible harm him more than you already have; you know it.

The winds have changed dramatically, and you can’t pretend you didn’t know it would happen; you can only afford to tell yourself you didn’t know your heart well.  
Had you known what the rush of blood, the shivering and the uncontrolled heartbeat really meant, and you would have hold onto him, without any restrains.   
But you were too proud to interpret the signs.

 

“You’re tattooed in my body and in my spirit, Brian Kinney.”, he whispered in your ear, two years ago. You were close to saying the three magical words he had been longing to hear since you first filled him with your cum and a promise of his wholeness.

You refrained, and until yesterday, you have remained too fucking proud to let your heart speak.

For a long time, everyone wondered if Brian Kinney even had a so-called heart; for you, it was but a vital muscle that pumped blood and kept you alive.

Yesterday he called you while you were at the agency, and told you he was leaving for New York, and this time he would stay there for a long time…  
You couldn’t tell if he was crying, or if it was just a bad cold.  
No “My love”, “I will think of you 24/7”, and worse, no “I will return soon” were said. Not this time.

Last night when you got home, you didn’t dare to ask him anything; his expression didn’t give much away, either.  
Only a few words were exchanged; just like light kisses on each other’s cheeks.  
You chose to sleep on the floor.

 

His flight is booked for tomorrow; he is about to fly away, and you are falling to pieces.

You lean against the windowsill, and stare at the patch of the sun that is still visible.  
The horizon is frayed, and as you overlook Liberty Avenue, you realise that so is everything in your world.  
The drag queens and the queer couples don’t seem to walk so happy and proud anymore.

The hem of your Armani shirt is frayed too, but for the first time ever, you don’t give a shit about the money you spent.

 

Nothing hurts more than to realise you are no longer the sovereign of your realm; your eyes winking at Justin and ordering him to come unto you and make you come, and your tongue trailing up and down his body, don’t seem to be enough for him to worship you, anymore.

You find yourself remembering all the times he told you that he would kill to hear you say the magical words; then you bang your head against the wall, over and over again, and you ask yourself: “why?”

 

You wonder if he has fallen in love with someone from New York.  
You wonder if there is one last chance to save yourself from dissipating into thin air.  
He is about to leave for the airport; he called a cab instead of asking you to take him there, and that was the last stroke.

You don’t know exactly what to do, but you know time won´t stand still.

There is no turning back; only looking ahead…

Five years ago, you would never imagine that love could hurt so much.


End file.
